Short Story XX

“You have all kept the Royal blacksmith quite busy. I hope you appreciate his efforts.”

The Queen visits her dungeon. Upon hearing her voice, the collective clatter of dozens of chains almost drown out her words.

Every prisoner bears wrist shackles connected behind his back. Ankle shackles are borne as well, connected by a hobbling chain. Haste has mandated that the many dozens of iron implements be simpler and lighter than that adorning the beast’s form. Still, access to the male appendage is denied, as demanded. Plus, the ankles are shackled together outside the perimeter of the cell making most movement impossible. As a result, the prisoners have found there are two feasible positions... lying supine... or sitting upright. In either, the hands remain behind the back... the feet extend outside the cell... the bars forcing a wide separation at the knees.

In a weekly protocol... or more aptly at her whim... the Queen leads an inspection procession. Neatly attired, riding crop in hand, she steps into the center area of the dungeon. Behind is her naked cherubic castrate. He/she/it leads her beast, leash at the neck collar, prostate stimulator gratefully left behind. Guards also enter... women of size, strength and disdain for the male. Such quietly step to the corners, ready to serve at the snap of the Queen’s fingers.

The coterie of misery... naked...bound... chaste... brings a wry smile. Particularly as all sit up and squirm, shuffling forth on their haunches, knowing to press their pubic regions through the bars in a required exhibition of their organs. Dozens of legs, feet and hobbling chains extend into the center area.

The inspection is of the male organ. The Queen expects tribute.

“Some of you are not firming fast enough,” the Queen proclaims.

The prisoners know what is expected of them... yet, can everyone adequately perform? The chastity assists. For some, being completely naked and bound before a regal woman of great beauty brings curious arousal. Yes, Royal pulchritude... the Queen is radiant, divine in her autocracy. Thus the younger, more virile slowly tumefy. Those of age wriggle about to frottage their penis against the smooth metal bars, daring not to offend with flaccidity.

Yet all endeavor to amuse, for the flaccid receive special attention.

“Every one nice and hard for me. My machine beckons.”

In the center where days before the beast was chained high by his neck collar, there has been placed an odd bench. Upon it, a male prisoner can be strapped in a kneeling position... chest resting on a padded cross piece, knees and calves comfortably secured to vertical planks. The device holds the prisoner well off the floor, the better to view, the Princess announced in first explaining its function.

Behind, there is mounted on a pedestal a clever piece of machinery... a fucking machine. Yes, a piston, mercifully covered with a cylinder of smooth but firm rubber, is driven by an electric motor. When activated, the piston emulates the action of copulation... except it does not tire... and it drives home deeply... again... and again... and again.

“So who’s going to mate with my machine today. Hmm? Let’s see who can best get it up for me. I like erect men... particularly when naked and well bound.”

The Queen laughs most wickedly as she steps from cell to cell. Yes, the prisoners know to offer tumescence, hoping for selection, for in being held in strict chastity, the machine will offer relative relief. Sodomized, the prostate gland will welcome the intense ignominy of anal penetration. Some are grateful to feel the tease of her riding crop... an occasional tender caress with the floppy tip most welcomed.

“And today... someone will get trimmed. There’s too many of you. I will offer the clemency of castration to the one who does not firm for me.”

No one doubts her word. Thus there is collective concentration, arousing fantasies conjured, smooth bars frottaged... all not only wishing to ride the machine... but to save the balls... for another day.

And so the Queen amuses herself. Dozens of hapless males... all paying the tribute of erection... all to eventually suffer the fate of her loving oral servant. Under her rule, no one has left the dungeon intact.